Hearts Alive
by Pale Treasures
Summary: Anna Karenina 2012. Kitty thinks about her marriage and the changes she's experienced since marrying Levin, and shares some happy news with her husband. One shot.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing about Anna Karenina, Joe Wright and Leo Tolstoy do.

**Rating: **K+

**Author's Note: **I apologize for any mistakes, as English isn't my first language. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Hearts Alive  
**

Kitty watched him far ahead, working with the other peasants, wanting to blend in and go unnoticed, but not quite succeeding. She proudly took in his hair, gleaming orange in the sun, his methodical and able gestures, his face, screwed gravely in concentration. She loved every single small token of distinctiveness that came from him, and was happy to call him her own. She often wondered if everyone around them recognised his worth as she did, and hoped fervently so.

They were married for over a year, now, and she did not regret it for a minute. Life had taught her her place. She thrived here, by Kostya's side, in a place that demanded hard work, but was also filled with respect and kindness. Long were the days of privilege and opulence, but she rarely missed them. Those times fit the young girl she had been, fit her needs, back then, but not anymore. She prided herself in having overcome the things she had once thought she could not live without. She thanked Providence daily for not having allowed her to marry Count Vronsky. He would have tired of her in a heartbeat, would have regarded her with amusement and offhandedness, at best, and she would have been heartily miserable before a year of marriage had elapsed. In everything, the opposite of what she felt with Kostya.

Which was not to say that Kostya was a simple man. He was many things, but uncomplicated was not one of them. She had seen this a long time ago, before they were even engaged, and had now enough experience and resilience to deal with his insecurities and mood swings. Whenever he got that telling look on his face, or fell abruptly and gloomily silent, she was able to pry his worries out of him and soothe him with gentle patience, like a mother of sorts. She knew it comforted him, even if he rarely said so.

She never thought any of it had to do with her. She knew she was his light in the darkness, his consolation when everything went wrong. Kostya might not be a verbose man, but he was skilled at showing his feelings through actions. He was also quite transparent, which should be obvious, when one remembered how he acted around her from the very beginning, but which she found surprising when she finally came to realise it. Vulnerability in such a severe, stubborn type of man was a rare find, at least, she thought so. But, if anything, it only made him more endearing, and she more determined to shower him with tenderness.

It was not always easy. Her short period of marriage had already been severely tried, and she knew she was not always perfectly submissive, either. Being married, having to work with everyone else, caring for the house and making decisions had helped her find a strength and resolve she did not think she had. It almost made her smile, now, to remember the shy, insecure, innocent young girl she had been. Sometimes, it troubled her to think she was leaving a whole part of herself behind, the person she had been for a full eighteen years, and she struggled to balance the two, the Kitty of old and the woman she was now. As of yet, she still was not certain it could be done. But, when she thought long and hard about it, she also did not think she wanted to return to what she been. She no longer thought she could – too much had happened, she was too different. Perhaps Kostya's introspection, more often than not filled with pain, was infectious. Perhaps their close and frequent contact had led her to closely resemble him. Was it like that for all couples? She did not remember it happening to papa and mama, but it made sense. In a way, it warmed her heart, to think they were borrowing something from the other and taking it on as their own. It seemed like an appropriate definition of marriage.

She roused from her deep musings to glance at Agafya, who was sitting by the door, engrossed in her sewing and distractedly humming a disjointed song. Mitya, with a head of shimmering blonde hair like hers, played quietly next to the old servant, and Kitty's heart swelled with love and pride. She had thought she loved Kostya most of all, but was proved wrong when their son was born. She had never known such a love, had not thought it existed – it was a heavenly thing, that completed her and gave her strength, purpose and courage. It was almost frightening, sometimes. But she did not tell Kostya she loved their son best, for she knew she would wound his feelings. How sensitive he was, even when he tried to prove the opposite! She dared not show it to his face, but sometimes, when she was by herself, she couldn't help giggling a bit over it.

All in all, life was good and peaceful and she felt grateful. Ever so slightly, she brushed a hand against her abdomen and smiled. More blessings continued to be showered upon them, and she was so happy, she could barely believe her good fortune. She had recently found out she was expecting a second child, but had not told anyone yet, least of all Kostya. She wanted to surprise him, and thorough preparation was in order to ensure a good way to do so. She couldn't wait to tell him. He had not reacted brilliantly to Mitya's pregnancy and birth and had struggled with him after he was born, but such things had been caused by fear and inexperience and were now in the past. She had no doubt he would be genuinely happy to hear the news. And if he wasn't... well, she didn't worry too much about it. He would grow into the idea of being a father for the second time, as he had grown used to Mitya.

Suddenly, she no longer wanted to wait to build the perfect moment, but still, she let Kostya finish his work. It would be better that way – he would not deal well with something or someone interrupting his concentration. At night, when she had him fully to herself, when nothing else claimed his attention... she would tell him.

* * *

Sometimes, when he returned home after a day of farm work, Kostya was so tired he became even less talkative than usual, and went about his business mutely. At first, it had distressed her, to the point she wondered whether it was, somehow, her fault, but now she had become accustomed enough to it to know it was one of her husband's many quirks and patiently waited for a brighter mood to return to him. Fortunately, he was not silent for long that night. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, when they were both sitting and watching 18-month old Mitya toddle about and tug on whatever looked interesting, and was touched to see a smile ease his sombre face. Looking at his son soothed Kostya's soul, and she was glad for it. She was even glad that their beginnings as a family had not been the best, so that it could lead to this. But it was getting late and she was growing too euphoric, too impatient. When Mitya stumbled, plopped down and his face scrunched as he began to cry, Kitty swiftly rose and picked him up, soothing his growing wails.

"It is time that someone went to bed; this is not a suitable time for good little boys to be up," she commented benevolently. She kissed Mitya's face and wiped his tears with adoring gestures, and waved Agafya, who had stepped forward to put him to bed, away. "I'll take him; don't trouble yourself." She looked at Kostya, who was observing them intently. "You look tired, as well, husband. Should you not follow our son's lead and go to bed?"

Kostya started abruptly, as though waking from a dream, but a small smile made his lips twitch, and she knew he would soon do as she'd suggested.

She went upstairs to put Mitya to bed first, laying him in his crib and kissing, caressing and humming little songs to him until he was calm again. She tucked the blankets closely around him, kissed his forehead tenderly and left the room, easy in the knowledge that he was fast asleep.

When she went into their room, Kostya was already sitting in bed, waiting for her. She smiled at him and sat before him, raising a hand to gently caress his stubbly face.

"You have been missed today," she began. Her smile widened the longer she stared at this much beloved face. "I am so proud of you."

"Should I not be the one saying that to you?" he countered evenly.

She laughed. "Perhaps. But nevertheless, I should be the one to speak. I have something to tell you."

His brow furrowed in worry. "What is it? Did something happen?"

She shook her head, but did not attempt to dispel his concern. Taking his hand in hers, she looked him in the eyes. The very air seemed to thrum expectantly around them. "You are going to be a father again, Kostya."

His eyes widened; he was unable to speak for a moment.

"Are you certain?" he whispered at length. Slowly, gingerly, he disengaged his hand from hers and touched her belly. She nodded.

"No one knows yet; only the two of us." She searched his face almost breathlessly, waiting for a reaction, and felt light-headed with joy and relief when a smile of delight began to tug at his lips, lighting up his face. He looked up from her stomach to her, with childlike wonder, as though confirming the enormity of that announcement. It will always be like this for him, she thought then. Regardless of how many children we have, he will always feel like this.

"You must rest," he stammered out suddenly. "You must not even think of moving. Let Agafya look after Mitya. We can't have you running after him in your state. What if you trip and fall while chasing him? No. You must promise me – you will not work. You will sit down or lie in bed."

Everything had returned to normal. She laughed and squeezed his hands, in silent reassurance. Well... only _partial_ reassurance. Kostya was a loving husband, and she was touched by his concern, but a bit too anxious. She could not imagine sitting or lying down for nine months; she would obey him, for his sake and the baby's, but that didn't mean she wouldn't cheat every now and then. After all, surely what he didn't know, couldn't hurt him, could it?


End file.
